


All About the Ring

by ginsky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Awkward proposal, Bad Luck, Eggsy gone crazy, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, and tons of embarrassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginsky/pseuds/ginsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One second before he was strolling down the street, heading home, enjoying the feeling of the best sunshine London has witnessed this month kissing his skin, humming under his breath a piece of tune he doesn’t remember which song it belongs to but loves it dearly anyway, and simply playing his part as a happy lad who worries about nothing. Then the next second he catches a glimpse of the ring lying in showing case through the window of that jewelry shop and almost walks himself into a lamp pole.</p><p>What a ring, Eggsy remembered himself wondering.</p><p> </p><p>It would look pretty bad ass on Harry’s finger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It all starts with a tiny thought.

It’s crazy how mere ideas can shake the whole world. Like how that apple dropped on Newton’s head centuries ago and knocked into his brain the law of universal gravitation, or how Earl Sandwich had that crazy whimsy to put meat between buns then voila, sandwiches. Or valentine, the man who spent half of his life on salvaging human beings, until suddenly, it struck him: oh shoot, WE’RE the virus!

Well, the same thing happened to Eggsy.

One second before he was strolling down the street, heading home, enjoying the feeling of the best sunshine London has witnessed this month kissing his skin, humming under his breath a piece of tune he doesn’t remember which song it belongs to but loves it dearly anyway, and simply playing his part as a happy lad who worries about nothing. Then the next second he catches a glimpse of the ring lying in showing case through the window of that jewelry shop and almost walks himself into a lamp pole.

 ** _What a ring_** , Eggsy remembered himself wondering.

 

**_It would look pretty bad ass on Harry’s finger._ **

***************************

The jewelry shop is sitting by the street’s corner, little less than a five minutes’ walk from their house. It has been there for a long time, judging by the worn out sign, and the fact that its owner ( _a bald man, who apparently lost all of his hair over nature force instead of shaving them all together just because he doesn’t have time nor energy to keep them pretty, like the way Merlin claims he did_ ) clearly is well-acquainted with most of the people around the neighborhood.

Eggsy never really noticed it before, though; he is a manly man, he doesn’t care for shiny little stones. But ever since he laid his eyes on that ring, and the idea of having it on Harry’s finger squirmed under his skull and spread like wildfire, the shop quickly becomes the splinter on his heart, the ghost who keeps haunting his every living thought like a curse.

Every time Eggsy walks out of the house, the shop is waiting for him by the corner, and the ring is waiting for him behind the window. Every time Eggsy tells himself to walk right past it, yet every time he can’t help but holding his step and looks at it for a while. He can’t quite tell what’s about this ring that draws him so; Eggsy’s never had a fetish before, the life he lived taught him the hard way that everything comes and goes and there’s nothing in this world you’re allowed to keep forever, no matter how much you cherish it.

But he is a changed man now.

Harry changed him.

***********************

It’s a Wednesday, and Eggsy goes out to visit the ring through the window like a creep, as usual. It’s really no more thrilling than any other day. A little walk down the street, a pinch of self-pitying and a lot of through-window staring. It’s supposed to keep going this way, but damn Merlin, that man is worse than a slave owner and has been throwing missions at his head like teenagers throwing dirty laundry at their mums’, which is the only reason why Eggsy has lost his mind, and Eggsy ** _has to be_** losing his mind, because no other reasonable explanation can account for his sudden inability to control his own limbs. One second before he was saying sweet things to the ring in his own head, then the next, his legs start to move on their own and carry him right into the shop.

The owner is reading newspaper behind the counter. He puts it down and looks up when Eggsy comes in.

“What can I do for you?” he asks. Behind him, by the corner near the ceiling, a camera is blinking little red light innocently at Eggsy.

Eggsy runs out of the shop like a crazy man.

Fuck. What was he thinking? **_Did he lose his friggin’ mind_** _?_ Shops like this have cameras all over the place! The surveillance tape must has been on its way to UKHQ already—surveillance tape on which Eggsy’s big, pale face sweating in front of a bunch of jewels. Soon, everyone is going to know why Eggsy has visited the jewelry shop, and people are going to laugh their asses out.

He’s so screwed.

***************************

Nobody knows.

At least nobody talks about it. Eggsy spends a few days in restlessness, keeps preparing for the other shoe to drop, but nothing happens. Not a peep.

Eggsy is so sure that Merlin knows—damn, how could he NOT KNOW? The man knows everything. He knows which kind of syrup Eggsy puts on his muffins this morning, he knows how Eggsy takes his tea, he knows what song Eggsy plays and sings along while showering, AND he knows the color of his socks as well as his underwear—not just for today. For the whole WEEK. Damn, he probably knows what color Eggsy’s going to wear for the next week, which even Eggsy isn’t sure about just yet.

Anyway, Merlin has to know. There’s no way, not in this universe, not in any scenario, that this man would miss it. But for reasons unknown, he keeps his mouth shut.

Maybe he is playing nice to Eggsy, or maybe he’s simply having a good time toying with him. Eggsy isn’t sure, which makes the situation ten times more dangerous. He’d like to think that he’s been staying on Merlin’s good side, but who knows. Maybe he overstepped someday, said some rude things about the bald man’s sweater accidently, and Merlin has been holding a grudge ever since. Anyway, before he figures it out, Eggsy has to keep an eye open even in his sleep.

So Eggsy spends a few days lurking in the background and watching every move Merlin makes. He arranges all his work lunches around Merlin, which raises more than a few eyebrows from his co-workers, but he does it anyway. He is so convinced that at some point, Merlin would think of something and break it to him, so they can shake hands under the table, Merlin gives him the footage, and Eggsy does whatever the bald man tells him to. It sounds a little dirty, but Eggsy is desperate and out of choice.

He keeps on waiting, and two days later, Merlin snaps.

The bald man puts down his forks and turns around in his chair. “Why are you staring at me?” he frowns at Eggsy, who has been shooting eye daggers into his back from afar, “what have I done?”

To be frank, even though he saw this coming days ago, Eggsy is still caught off guard, so he says the first thing that enters his mind.

 

“I don’t know,” he says, keeping staring, **_“you tell me.”_**

***********************

Eggsy gets a long lecture on work-place harassments from Arthur, and that’s it. Merlin still hasn’t put his cards on the table, so Eggsy is not letting his guard down. It’s true that Eggsy can never outfox a man like Merlin, but he has tenacity on his side.

But too bad, he is still too young for this. He should have known Merlin would not play the fair game, because the second he turns his head, Merlin runs to Harry, like the sly traitor he is.

“Merlin asked me about you today,” Harry tells him from across the table while they are having dinner, “clearly you are freaking him out. By giving him the stare.”

Eggsy looks up slowly, puts on his best _‘Who? Me?’_ face.

Harry tilts his head. “Can’t say that I’m not impressed. Never heard Merlin back down in staring competitions before.”

It’s tempting to simply say ‘ _maybe it’s because his conscience was clear at that time_ ’, but Eggsy swallows the sentence with his steak. “I dun know,” he shrugs, crossing his fingers under the table, wishing he does not look TOO suspicious, “I did not stare him.”

Harry searches his face for a while. “You have been acting weird recently,” He asks, frowns a little, “should I be worried?”

“Um…no?”

Harry looks at him for a little longer. Eggsy squirms under his eyes, desperately trying not to blush. “You know you can tell me anything, no matter what, right?” Harry finally say, with an assuring smile on his face, “I will take care of you.”

He is so beautiful. Eggsy’s heart sinks to the bottom just by looking at his face. He could tell Harry, right now, right there, go down on his knee and ask this man to marry him—screw the ring, he doesn’t need it. There’s a slim chance that Harry is going to say yes; sure, it’s a wonderful world and one got to keep dreaming and dreaming big. But there’s also a chance that Harry is going to say, ‘ _Urhhhhhhhhhh, let me think. **NO**._ ” and that is going to be the end of Eggsy Unwin. Seriously. He would shrivel and die on the spot. He is too young for that; Eggsy’s not ready.

“Nothing happened,” Eggsy swallows, lowering his eyes down to the plate, “I’m just worrying ‘bout the next mission.”

He can tell that Harry’s is not convinced, but the older man lets it go and changes the topic anyway, because he is a gentleman like that.

Eggsy can’t even look at Harry for the rest of the dinner. God, the man has no idea what Eggsy has done.

 

***************************

 

After a few torturing days, Eggsy decides this is it. He has had enough.

He is not going to burn for something he has never even done. He has gone through so much, and he is a different man now, he can handle himself, and among all the things one can label on him cowardice is never one of them, so if he is going down, he will make sure that he goes down for a reason and that he fights a beautiful fight before it happens, and beyond all of that, he loves Harry, he loves him so much that he can do all kinds of crazy things for this man if they kill him in the end, like shaving his head, skin dip in Thames or tell Percival in face that he has bad breath and his hair is not pretty at all.

Eggsy goes to that shop again.

This time he is relatively more prepared, which means he only goes through a mild panic attack before he pushes through the door. It doesn’t mean he is not nervous, though. He is sweating himself wet like he was 8 again and had to read his own poem out aloud in front of the whole class, and just for the record, he is still recovering from that experience.

There’s no other customers in the shop, which is great, because Eggsy would probably have to kill every single one of them if things go south, namely someone recognizes him and starts screaming. He walks toward the showing case by the corner, looking down and blinking at the jewelries lying inside, and those jewelries look up and blink right back, shiny against the dark purple velvet, dazzling in a way that Eggsy kind of wants to cover his eyes and cry.

Eggsy closes his eyes as tight as they can go, before mentally slapping himself to man up. He keeps on searching without any idea what he is searching for, and five minutes later, he is on the brim of breaking down. None of these jewels suits— ** _deserves_** —Harry, they are all too fancy, too blatant, too…loud. He doesn’t need Harry to flash a shiny diamond at everyone’s face to show his undying love, and even to think Harry with a big diamond gives him the creeps. He wants none of them.

He wants **THE RING**.

Eggsy looks up from the showing case, and the owner is standing behind the checkout counter, narrowing his eyes at him.

Urh, damn. He must be giving all kinds of mixed signals here. His bad ass elite suit screams **_richhhhh_** , but he is sweating and fidgeting and sneaking glances at the camera like he’s going to pull a hammer out of his pocket any minute and start smashing showing boxes.

“I—I have money,” he stutters out, “I’m just—I’m not sure,” he scratches the back of his head, feeling awkward and exposed and stupidly young, like he is too big to fit in the room and too small at the same time, “I am looking for…I don’t know, um, a ring? Yeah. A ring. I haven’t decided yet…about the design! Not the idea itself. I, I’m pretty serious about the idea. I’m going to buy a ring. Yeah,” Eggsy straightens his back a little bit, trying desperately to grasp a slice of control, “I want a ring. I’m just…not sure yet.”

Eggsy wants to kick himself to death as soon as he’s finished. _What—what the hell was he saying?_

To his surprise, the owner relaxes at that. “I understand,” he gives Eggsy a knowing smile, taking his hand out from under the counter— _wait, was he going to push the emergency button? **Jesus** —_“you have no idea how many people have walked in through that door, and tell me things even stupider than what you’ve just said. It’s an important decision to make, so it tends to have that effect on people.” He puts on a pair of gloves. “Now about the ring. Is it for a she or he?”

“Um…” Eggsy swallows, “…he?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the owner winks at him, “I don’t judge. May I show you those rings? Yes, there.”

He taps on the glass with his fingertip, and Eggsy looks down—well, those are not bad. Some of them are even **_good_** ; simple, elegant, without too much decoration. But not as good as **the ring** , Eggsy says to himself.

The owner is rather enthusiastic, introduces Eggsy to almost all the rings in the shop, and only after Eggsy rejects all of them does he realize something is wrong.

“Do you,” he hesitates, “do you already have your eyes on something?”

“Yes,” Eggsy answers weakly, pointing a lame finger at the ring beside the window, “I want to have a look at that one, please. Thank you.”

The owner takes it out for him. After all the time he spent staring at it through the window, Eggsy is still not prepared to see it directly in its full grace. It is shining a mysterious metal gloss under the light, and at that moment, Eggsy wants to cry. He can wax poetries about this ring all day long, and he can surely do better than a C- like he did in high school.

Maybe he **_IS_** crying a little, because the owner is looking at him worriedly. “Are you sure? This is not designed as a wedding ring,”

“This is it,” Eggsy breaths, “I want it.”

“Okay,” the man shrugs, doesn’t argue, “if you are sure…” he carefully puts the ring back, not noticing how Eggsy’s eyes going after it, “your better half. What is his size?”

Eggsy pales immediately.

 

**FUCK.**

*******************************

For all the fuss he has made over this tiny ring, Eggsy can’t believe he forgets about Harry’s size.

The ring has to be perfect. If he slides it on Harry’s finger and it stuck on his knuckle, Eggsy would literally throw himself under the train.

And he can’t turn to Merlin, despite how convenient it would be. Merlin definitely has the size of Harry’s finger, along with other sizes about Harry Eggsy prefers him not having. But the man already knows he went to the jewelry shop, if he asks him about Harry’s size now, Eggsy might as well put the gun in his hand and asks the man to shoot himself.

What’s worse, his strange behavior has raised a few’s attention, including his boss, Arthur’s. And Arthur seems to believe that Eggsy’s problem, like everything else in the world, can be solved by working his own ass out, so missions begin to come to Eggsy’s way one after another like crazy (Eggsy is sure Merlin plays some parts in this as well).

His next mission needs a new suit, so Eggsy was tossed into René’s shop by an overly enthusiastic Roxy very early this morning. Seriously, he has spent half of his spy life on dressing himself properly. Eggsy just couldn’t figure out what’s so interesting about suits. René puts him on a small chair, strips him to his very underwear, pokes him with pins and asks him to do all kinds of ridiculous poses like he’s a ken doll. If Eggsy was not so focused on the ring, he would have run out of the door screaming.

René is murmuring something about neckline beside him, and Eggsy must be desperate, because the next thing he knows, his big mouth is running on its own.

“Do ye, um, by any chance, have the size of Harry’s finger?”

René doesn’t even give him a side glance. “Of course I do.” He answers fluently, “chin up, please.”

Eggsy almost chokes on his tongue. “Ye—ye do?” he wants to turn his head towards René, but is too afraid the man would stab the pin into his thigh for not cooperating, so he raises his head as ordered and talking to the ceiling instead. “What for?”

“Mr. Hart ordered a pair of gloves two months ago.”

“And you measured his every finger to make, what, gloves?”

“Of course I did.” Rene flashes a LOOK at Eggsy. “We make nothing if not the best.”

“That’s…great.” Eggsy keeps his mouth shut until René is finished with the collar size, and he is feeling much safer without the tape around his neck, “so, do you mind if I have it? I really need to use them. For…something.”

“Not at all.” René folds the tape and slides it in his pocket, all suave and smooth, “I can copy the record and write them down for you. A minute, please.”

He goes to the big ass book with a thick black cover on the table over the room, and starts transcribing figures on a new sheet. Eggsy stares at his neat hand writing, couldn’t believe his luck. “Ye dun want to know why I asked for it?”

“No,” René answers without missing a beat, “we don’t ask questions in this room, Mr. Unwin.”

Eggsy is shocked. “Wow. That’s—that’s so cool. **_You are so cool,_** ” he stutters, “I’ve never noticed this before, but yer so cool. And tha’ is a really bad ass line, which I ‘ave never had chance to use before.” He eyes the other man dreamingly, “is it possible that you sound more like a hit man than I do? Like, who would even want to be a spy? I wish I could be a tailor.”

“And you **_ARE_** one, Mr. Unwin,” René smiles that all-knowing smile at Eggsy again, “it’s on your business card.” He hands Eggsy the paper, folded neatly in two. “Glad that I can help. Have a nice day.”

 

Eggy leaves the shop with the paper in his hand, and a mood better than ever. He thinks about the ring, and straightens his back. For the first time in this month, he is actually feeling pretty confident about his plan.

********************************

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now he has the ring, all Eggsy needs to do is ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! My lap top broke down epically last week, and I rewrote the whole chapter after weeping and mourning over its dead body. And a huge thank you for all people leaving comments and kudos on the last chapter!! Love you guys xxx

“I lov ye,” Eggsy blurts out before he can stop himself, looking up at the man in front of him, “marry me.”

The man stares right back, eyes wide, face pale, mouth hanging open.

_**okay.** _

Eggsy takes in a deep breath, turns on the tap and washes his hands, before giving it another try.

“Harry,” he begins, slower but louder this time, looking up at the mirror, “I bought ye this.” He pops open the ring box. “I lov ye. Marry me, please.”

_Wait a minute. **PLEASE**? Where did that come from?_

Eggsy lets out a long-suffering yet totally silent groan, throwing up both hands in frustration but can’t find anything nearby to punch, so winds up smacking them on his own forehead. _No 'please' next time,_ Eggsy mentally slaps himself, _this is supposed to be a proposal, not a begging_.

Or maybe it is. He has practiced those words for like, a dozen times over now. He’d very much like to call it a rehearsal, but Eggsy knows he’s just doing it in hope that when he finally says those words to a real Harry, he won’t sound as desperate as he’s now feeling.

And well, doesn’t he fail epically even at that, because his voice sounds nervous and uncertain even to his own ears. But that’s not the worst. _The worst is, he sounds **TERRIFIED**_.

This is not going to work. This is SO not going to work, that Eggsy probably has better chance winning a lottery, or actually beating Merlin in Sudoku for once. His own reflection frowning at him, not at all like a man who’s in love madly enough to willingly jump into marriage, more like a man who’s waiting for a bunch of depressing bank statements flying his way at the end of the month. Eggsy swallows, tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.

Jesuz. _Why am I even trying?_ Eggsy snaps the box shut with a sour look on his face, _nobody is going to marry me anyway._ He looks like he suffers from Bell’s palsy.

 

Yeah, yeah, he bout the ring, laugh it up. He rushed into the jewelry shop five minutes after he got Harry’s size, to be more specific, waving the paper René gave him like that Charlie boy waved his Golden Ticket in the movie. And call him naïve all you want, but at that time, Eggsy truly believed the worst part was over.

He really should’ve known better.

Now, staring down at the ring, Eggsy kind of wants to smash his head into the wash stand. ** _What’s wrong with him?_** _Who would even want a ring that cannot electrocute people?_ Look at it. It’s small, harmless, and pathetic. Just like Eggsy. There’s no way Harry’s gonna accept this pitiful little thing.

And yet Eggsy can’t help but slipping a little more in love with this ring by seconds. There’s just something about it, something pokes right on the softest spot in his heart, that reduces Eggsy into an eight years old school girl who just receives her first puppy on Christmas. He’s holding the ring box carefully between his fingers like holding an egg, tearing his hair out and thinking himself nuts, but still couldn’t figure out a safe way to give it to Harry.

“Damn,” Eggsy mutters, rubbing his face with one palm, “damn it.”

He really needs to spend less time in bathroom talking to himself, and goes out to shoot some people to regain a tad confidence.

***********************

So, before he figures out a way to present this ring in front of Harry perfectly, Eggsy decides the best strategy is to hide it.

That’s right, hide it.

Squirrels hide pinecones all the time, right? Well, Eggsy is an all-round ass-kicking super spy, surely he can do better than a rodent. Of that he is confident.

**********************

**_He is wrong._ **

Hiding things isn’t easy at all, and it turns out being an all-round ass-kicking super spy doesn’t do you no favor when your roommate is also an all-round super spy who happens to kick a lot more ass than you.

The ring goes into the underwear drawer at first, then into the cupboard, then behind the loosened gratings of the vent in bathroom, even spends a few days seeing the inside of their refrigerator. Eggsy doesn’t know exactly how good Harry is at detecting, but he knows it must be VERY GOOD, so he’s not taking any chance.

He keeps moving the ring to new locations, and at the same time, practicing his proposing skills on every furniture pieces in the house.

Eggsy tries his best to be discreet, but still Harry caught him making love confessions to a toothbrush once. Being the gentleman he is, Harry was decent enough to never bring it up, but he does stop and frown at the toothbrush every time he walks past it for a few days.

He must think Eggsy is weird.

_So does Eggsy._

************************

One thing about squirrels hiding pinecones, is that they sometimes tend to forget where they hide it in the first place, therefore miss the chance to dig it out before spring. And after a long winter, these pinecones would grow into actual pine trees. Well, in Eggsy’s case, the outcome is much more complicated. The start, on the other hand, is surprisingly similar. Eggsy finally gets lost in the ever growing list of hiding-spots, and believe him, it’s so much worse than having a few unexpected new trees.

Harry told him he’s going to take a shower, and Eggsy thought it was a perfect timing to relocate the ring. Call him paranoid, but in face of probably the very best spy in United Kingdom, there’s no such thing as being ‘too cautious’.

Harry went to the bathroom three minutes ago, which means Eggsy has at least twenty minutes in his hands. Now, he has already came up with a few ideas: he can hide it behind the extra stash of plates in the cupboard, or under his bed like how he hid cigarettes from her mum when he was a little boy, or on the top of their wardrobe, where no living beings but cats would go, and lucky for Eggsy, they don’t own a cat, only a dog whose legs are so short that it cannot properly climb the stairs without tripping.

 _Now talk about the ring, where is it?_ Eggsy looks around expectantly, searching his memories. He took it out from the tea can yesterday, and put it in—

**_FUCK._ **

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckmotherfu_ —he put it in the laundry basket, which is now in the bathroom!

**_SO IS HARRY!_ **

Eggsy jumps to his feet in a split second, springing towards the bathroom like he’s been chasing down the road by a dozen gun men and he’s life’s depending on it. Buzzing noises ringing through his ears, making it really hard for Eggsy to hear anything other than his own panting breath and a voice inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Merlin: _you BERK, what if Harry knocks the basket over accidently, and the ring box—_

_Damn. Holy fuck sweet Jesus, he needs to run faster!_

Finally, the bathroom’s door is right in front of him. Eggsy bursts into the room, and knock himself directly into a very nude Harry.

Harry grabs his elbow immediately out of good instinct before Eggsy smashes his nose against Harry’s chest, saving them both from the miserable destiny to die a disgraceful death by knocking their heads open on the bathtub. But they still stumble backwards for a few steps out of inertia, limbs tangled together, and they both jump at the loud bang of door hitting the wall.

They stare at each other in shock for a few seconds. Harry is the first one to recover.

He lets go of Eggsy’s elbow, picks up a towel from the basin and puts it around his waist fluently. “You should probably knock,” he calmly points out, “not that I mind, but I thought we were over this. Knock, and come in.” he pauses, raising an eyebrow, a hint of amusement sliding into his voice. “And if you are so keen to use the bathroom, need I remind you there’s another one downstairs?”

Eggsy turns red at the speed of light. For a second, he thinks he is going to blow up in embarrassment, like popcorns blow up under microwave. “I,” he opens his mouth, “ ** _I SHOULD WASH THESE_**.”

He snatches the laundry basket from aside, dare not to even sneak a glance at Harry’s face before he fleets like a rabbit gone crazy. He runs so fast, that he almost throws himself out of the stairs when he goes down. He dumps the dirty laundry on the sofa, excavating the ring box from under a pile of socks.

The ring is still inside, glimmering innocently against the dark velvet. It has no clue what clusterfuck it just poured on Eggsy.

Eggsy buries his face in his palms.

***********************

Ever since that traumatic accident, Eggsy stops moving the ring around like a paranoid hamster. There’s no point, because Harry probably already has deemed Eggsy as imbecile anyway. Nobody wants to marry a man who is not right in his head, so Eggsy is going to die alone, with nobody but JB by his side.

The ring finds a permanent residence in the oatmeal box.

If there is one place in this house that Harry’s never going to lay even a pinkie on, it would be the oatmeal box, because Harry absolutely hates oatmeal. He hates it like canary hates cat, and then some more. Eggsy never figures out what on earth can oatmeal possibly do to him; Eggsy is a fan himself, and would very much like to see it on his breakfast menu.

But then again, whatever. Eggsy loves Harry to death, he could totally give up oatmeal for him, if that’s what this love takes. He could sign up for a regular AA meeting, if only Harry still would like to have him around by that time, instead of kicking him outside because of his mental issues.

 ** _Shite, this is gettin’ way out of hands_** , Eggsy stares gloomily at the oatmeal box, ** _forget about the ring, I have to do something._**

****

After all, the ring is going nowhere, but if he didn't do something, **_Harry is_**.

***************************

 

When Eggsy wakes up, he is alone in the bed.

He freezes for a few seconds, bewildered, before he catches a string of soft noise from somewhere in the house, telling him that the other man is still here. He falls back onto his pillow, buries his face in it and inhaling the faint smell of Harry’s after shave, and stays there until the rich fragrance of bacon in the air is too much for him to hold still, and his stomach moans in expectation.

Eggsy swings his feet over the edge of bed quietly, and sneaks out of the bedroom on his bare feet. Harry is, indeed, in the kitchen, with his back towards Eggsy, attending to something on the oven that smells incredible. Seriously, Eggsy is the least demanding guy when it comes to food. He can practically eat anything that’s put in front of him, thanks to an shitty youth of unhealthy diet, but Harry insists on feeding him well. Eggsy likes watching Harry cook, though, or Harry doing anything else with those long, lean fingers.

Harry is wearing his (and secretly, Eggsy’s) favorite red gown, glasses nowhere to be seen, hair a tad disheveled without the hair gel but clearly has been combed carefully. Eggsy tip toes towards him and hides behind the door, spying on him stealthily for a while. Maybe he should offer his help. Eggsy considers it, and dismisses the idea promptly. Let’s not fool ourselves; Eggsy cannot even pull out a poached egg successfully without setting something else on fire.

“When you finish peeping,” Harry says without looking back, “come and help me put those plates on table.”

Eggsy can’t help but grin. “G’morning to ye too, ‘Arry.” He comes out of the corner, not at all surprised that the other man has detected him already. He never succeeded.

Eggsy yawns, stretches his arms over his head, combing his fingers through his hairs to make them look more decent. “When did ye get up?”

“A little earlier than you,” Harry answers absently, still occupied on his don’t-know-what-but-smells-like-a-piece-of-heaven, “pass me the milk, would you?”

That he can do. Eggsy fumbles through the refrigerator with bleary eyes, then pokes on Harry’s arm, passing him the milk carton. Harry gives him a side glance, takes in sight his crazy sleep head with all the hairs somehow manage to stick into a different direction, before shaking his head and sighing.

“I don’t understand,” he declares, “why do you insist on hogging the cover when you know it’s only going to end up with you sweating like crazy?”

“I didn’t sweat like crazy,” Eggsy retorts just for the sake of retorting, “this is how my hair looks in the morning.” Which is a lie, because he totally did sweat like crazy under all the covers.

Harry shakes his head again, but didn’t argue with him. He pours some milk into a bowl, and picks up something from aside. Eggsy isn’t paying attention, he is busy tiding his hair up using the smooth surface of refrigerator as mirror.

His hair is not messy. They’re just short. And if Harry pities him that much, he could totally save him by pulling the cover back! Eggsy can’t wait to share his opinion, so he turns around, looking at the other man—

 

Harry is holding the bowl with one hand, and in the other, it’s the oatmeal box.

 

All the blood in his vein runs cold. Eggsy stands there, dumbstruck, every fiber in his brain fries and sizzles and dies. “What,” he stutters, “what are ye doing?”

“Making breakfast,” Harry answers, doesn’t notice the choke in Eggsy’s voice. He opens the box, lifts it to—

“WAIT!” Eggsy shouts, “WAIT A MINUTE!”

Harry startles, hand stops mid-air. “What?”

Eggsy opens his mouth, but no words come out. **_What should he say?_** The box tilts dangerously in Harry’s hand, a few pinch of oatmeal have already dropped out into the bowl below. Eggsy doesn’t remember exactly how deep he buried the ring, but it’s definitely not deep enough to survive a standard bowlful. It will fall out, and fall out directly into the milk beneath, and splash the milk all over the place, and not only ruin the breakfast, but also the proposal, the marriage, and Eggsy’s whole damn life.

Eggsy’s heart is about to jumping out of his throat, but he doesn’t dare to stare at the oatmeal box for too long, afraid that will raise Harry’s suspicions, so he stares at Harry’s face, in utter terror.

“What?” Harry asks again, a deep frown begins to form between his eyebrows.

Eggsy swallows. “Why, why oatmeal?” he laughs dryly, “ye dun even like it.”

Harry blinks. “But you do,” he says slowly.

Good lord. Eggsy wants to bang his head against the dining table. “I—I dun like it that much, actually. I mean,” he closes his mouth, opens it, then closes it again. “I dun,” he argues weakly, “I dun want to eat oatmeal.”

Harry is not talking, just stares at him. Eggsy licks at his lips, mustering up his courage to step forward a few inches, and takes the oatmeal box from Harry’s hand carefully, before putting it back into the cabinet.

“Eggsy, seriously,” Harry calls behind his back, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eggsy says for what feels like the hundredth time this month, “nothing’s wrong.” He is so occupied pushing the box into the cabinet as deep as physically possible under the cover of the cabinet door, that he almost misses the next words out of Harry’s mouth.

“Are you trying to break up with me?”

“I— ** _WHAT_**?” Eggsy jumps from the ground, almost hits his head on the cabinet, “NO!! F’course not! Why do ye even say so?”

“You are hiding something from me, you are not talking to me, and now you are not even letting me make you breakfast,” Harry states calmly, “and this is not the first time. It has been going on for a while.”

Eggsy’s jaw goes slack, mouth hanging open with no words come out. Harry frowns, crosses his arms and leans back against the kitchen counter. “If that’s what in your mind,” he says slowly with a hesitant but solemn look on his face, “you don’t have to—“

“No no no, stop!” Eggsy cuts him off hastily, two hands in the air like he can push all those words back into Harry’s mouth, “ ‘m not breakin’ up with ye! I,” he swallows, feeling his palms begin to sweat, “I’m never breakin’ up with ye. So don’t,”—a storm of desperation swirls in his mind, sets his stomach on a low burning fire. ** _Jusuz, what has he done?_** Everything was going on awfully, awfully well, until Eggsy has to jump out and decide he wants more, and keeps messing things up until everything is fucked beyond repair—“don’t break up with me. PLEASE.”

Harry stares at him with an unfathomable look, still not talking. Eggsy feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. “’Arry,” he says desperately.

And that’s it. Harry signs, steps forward and pulls Eggsy into a kiss. Eggsy can’t help but melting immediately into this kiss, his knees almost give up under the bone-shaking tide of relief that’s running through him. He grabs onto Harry’s gown, arms closing around the other man’s waist. ** _I don’t want to break up with you,_** Eggsy can practically taste the words on his lips, **_I want you to marry me._** But he has prepared for this for far too long, he can’t afford to ruin it now. So Eggsy bite his (and Harry’s) lips, says nothing.

“I don’t know what is bothering you, or why you are hiding it from me,” Harry breaks the kiss, but his hands still a warm and reassuring weight on Eggsy’s shoulders, “but I do know you must have your reasons. So do what you have to do. But if—just if—you find it too hard to bear on your own, come to me.” he brushes his thumbs against Eggsy’s cheekbone, “I’m right here.”

Eggsy looks up at Harry, a lump in his throat that he cannot seem to swallow. He can’t believe he is going to ask this man to walk into marriage, with **_him_** of all people. Every second Harry holds him in his arms, Eggsy is growing more desperate.

Somewhere in the house, the telephone rings. It must be for Harry, because nobody ever calls Eggsy through land lines. Eggsy looks at Harry, and Harry sighs.

“I’d better take that,” Harry says, letting loose of Eggsy, “a minute.”

Eggsy nods. He sits down by the table, takes in a deep breath while Harry’s retreating back disappears outside the kitchen. The fragrance of bacon is still rich in the air, but it’s not incredible anymore. Eggsy’s stomach churns uncomfortably; he doesn’t feel like eating anything at this point.

To his surprise, Harry never goes back to their talk after the call. He gives Eggsy a complicated look before sitting down, and averts the topic to something lighter. Eggsy drinks that bowl of milk, and they never talks about the incident again.

 

****************************

Life goes on, and Eggsy is still trying.

The oatmeal thing is definitely a huge set-back of Eggsy’s plan, but he is not giving up, not just yet. Eggsy has to re-consider his whole strategy, and after a lot of brain work, Eggsy decides the ring is staying nowhere but in his own pocket now. The most dangerous place is also the safest place, yeah?

 

**_NO._ **

 

_If only Eggsy knows what’s going to happen._

**************************

 TBC.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so bear with me and all the mistakes are mine! Also, tell me if you like it XD


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